


Wine me, dine me

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Slash, Road Trips, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: When Stiles sees that there's only one bed in the motel, he groans.Of fucking course.





	Wine me, dine me

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this bit of fluff where nothing happens.

The woman behind the car rental counter clears her throat before announcing “We’re closed. That was the last car.”

There’s a chorus of groans around him, and Stiles can’t help but join in.

He can see that the other counters are also closed -  the cancelled flights due to thunderstorms have sent everyone flocking to the car companies.

He curses under his breath. It looks like he’s not getting home for Christmas, short of a miracle.

It’s December 23rd, and he has two days to get there. It’s a two day drive, assuming he can get his hands on some form of transport, and just the thought of it exhausts him.

He slumps into a seat and pulls out his phone to call his Dad and tell him that his flight’s been cancelled, and he probably won’t make it home after all.

His Dad’s understandably disappointed, but he assures Stiles that he’ll cope, and that he’d sooner Stiles be safe.

Stiles feels marginally better after talking to his father, and he stays where he is for a minute, thinking through his options. He’s interrupted by the sound of car keys jangling in his ear.

He looks up to see Peter Hale standing there, dangling a set of car keys.

“I’m assuming you want a ride back to Beacon Hills?” Peter enquires casually.

“Jesus fucking Christ” Stiles groans when he sees who’s standing there.

“Just call me Peter, Stiles” he smirks, looking as unfairly attractive as ever.

Stiles seriously considers saying no.

Two days in a car with Peter Hale? Attractive or not, he’s arrogant at best, and can be downright cruel at his worst.

He’s not sure he can do it.

But then he thinks about the disappointment that he’d heard in his Dad’s voice, and sighs.

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

“Well hurry up, if we get on the road we can cover some distance before we stop for the night” Peter says, striding away and leaving Stiles to grab his bags and catch up.

Stiles follows Peter across the airport, taking the opportunity to ogle Peter’s ass shamelessly. It’s an ass worth ogling, and as he’s watching Stiles is suddenly struck by how damn long Peter’s legs are, and how good they look in those tight jeans, with the scuffed leather boots with worn down heels.

Once they step outside though, he forgets Peter’s legs as he’s pelted with rain.

By the time they reach the car, they’re both soaked.

Peter’s driving an SUV, so there’s plenty of room for their bags in the back seat. They climb in, and Peter strips his shirt off, muscles rippling as he peels the wet fabric from his body.

Stiles stares, because damn, Peter’s built. He’d always assumed that he was in good shape under those v necks, but he hadn’t reckoned on the amount of sheer muscle Peter’s sporting.

He can’t stop looking, especially when Peter shakes his head and water droplets fly from his hair. He looks like he should be in a calendar hanging on the wall of a fortysomething’s office cubicle.

Peter catches him watching, and his eyes crinkle with amusement.

“You should probably take yours off as well, unless you _want_ to sit in wet clothes for the next five hours?” he suggests, as he reaches over, unzips his luggage, and snags a dry shirt.

Stiles struggles out of his soaked plaid and the t shirt underneath, shivering as the cool air hits his skin and causes goosebumps to rise.

“You’ve grown up well, Stiles” Peter comments as he looks him over.

Stiles blushes, and leans over to grab his own bag. He has to climb half way into the back seat to get into the luggage, and when he slides back into the front, he sees Peter staring at his ass.

“Very, very well” Peter says, and licks his lips.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

This is going to be the longest road trip ever.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles fully expects Peter to demand some kind of repayment for sharing his ride, but when he asks him “So what’s the catch? What do I owe you?” Peter looks vaguely affronted. 

“It’s Christmas, and we’re going in the same direction. I get someone to share the driving, and you get to go home. It’s a win - win situation. I _can_ be a decent person sometimes, you know” he says with an arched eyebrow.

Stiles shrugs. “I’m not saying you can’t.  I just wanted to check. Let me chip in for gas, at least.”

“Fine, and you can drive tomorrow. I’m really not a morning person” Peter concedes.

They find a radio station that they both don’t hate, and Stiles is surprised at how the time passes easily as they catch up.

Peter’s acting….normally.

He doesn’t shoot insults Stiles’ way, doesn’t make derogatory comments about the staff when they stop for coffee, and seems genuinely interested when he asks Stiles about his new life away from Beacon Hills.

He asks questions, makes jokes, and he seems to have lost the sharp edges that once defined him.

He’s still wickedly clever, and he flirts shamelessly, but he’s different somehow.

About an hour into the drive, Stiles looks at him, considering.

“You’re different” he observes.

“You’re not such an asshole any more. What happened to creeper wolf while I was away?”

Peter snickers at the use of the old nickname, and replies “Time, and a little perspective. And therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.”

Stiles looks surprised, and Peter smiles at his reaction.

“I know. Nobody’s more surprised than me. But it got so I couldn’t stand the flashbacks anymore. I’d flinch at the sight of a naked flame. I wasn’t sleeping, because I was afraid of the nightmares. In the end, it got so bad that Derek told me it was therapy or Eichen House, after I woke him up screaming every night for a week.”

He pauses, before saying “Eichen was never an option.”

Stiles nods. He understands Peter’s feelings about Eichen– his own memories of the place are less than stellar.

Peter stares out the front windshield as he continues “I hated it, but I went into damned therapy. And it helped, as much as it killed me to admit it.”

“Well, you’ve changed” says Stiles.

“I’ve changed back” Peter corrects.

“I’m myself again, the way I was before the fire. Nice. Boring. Safe.”

“I wouldn’t call you boring” Stiles says.

Peter grins at him then, and there’s something about the curl of his top lip that prompts Stiles to add “Or safe.”

“Scared of the big bad wolf, Stiles?” Peter asks, turning to face him with a gleam in his eye.

“Maybe I like a little danger” Stiles responds, and Peter’s grin widens.

* * *

 

By the time they stop for the night, it’s nearly midnight. The motel they pull into is nearly full though, and they end up sharing a room.

“Of course it’s a double fucking bed” Stiles sighs. “I already feel like I’m in some sort of Christmas rom com.”

“Oh? Are you planning to take advantage of me in the middle of the night, Stiles?”  Peter jokes, waggling his eyebrows.

“I didn’t mean it like that” Stiles protests. “It’s just that first my flight’s cancelled, then a handsome man from my past offers me a ride and tells me he’s a reformed character, and suddenly there’s only one room left at the motel. If every single Christmas movie I’ve ever watched is accurate, we should be dating by the time you drop me off at my dad’s.”

“So you think I’m handsome? I mean, you’re right of course, but it’s nice to hear you say it” Peter preens.

Stiles snorts.

“That’s what you took away from that?”

Peter shrugs.

“An attractive younger man from my past is paying me compliments. Let me have my moment.”

They stand there looking at each other silently, each waiting for the other to make a move.

It’s Peter who breaks the mood, throwing his bag on the bed before heading into the bathroom.

Stiles hears the shower running, and tries very hard not to imagine a wet, naked Peter.

He’s spectacularly unsuccessful.

Peter showers quickly, emerging with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

Stiles looks him up and down, and Peter teases him, saying “Like what you see?”

“You know I do” Stiles huffs. “You’re just making this awkward on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Oh, definitely. I want to see if I can make you want me purely through the power of my looks” Peter says, far too cheerfully.

Stiles slams the bathroom door behind him when he goes to have his own shower, and he jerks off furiously while he’s in there, far too aware of Peter listening in the next room. He knows he can probably hear him, but If Stiles is going to sleep in a bed next to Peter, he’s going to need a little relief, just so he doesn’t embarrass himself and start humping his leg in his sleep.

He expects Peter to tease him when he finally emerges, but Stiles finds him tucked up in bed, fast asleep, wearing a t shirt and boxers.

Huh.

Stiles is only mildly disappointed.

He climbs into the other side of the bed, making sure to keep his back to Peter, and settles into a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Peter said he wasn’t a morning person, it was an understatement.

Stiles was worried about waking up in a compromising position, since he tends to move about a lot in his sleep, but when he comes to he’s still on his side of the bed, and Peter’s curled into a ball in a far corner.

Stiles quietly climbs out of bed and dresses, before shaking Peter awake.

Attempting to shake Peter awake, at least.

He touches his shoulder gently, and is greeted with a growl that’s more wolf than human.

He draws his hand back and tries again, this time shaking Peter’s leg.

Peter kicks out randomly, and growls again.

Stiles gives up and goes out to find them coffee and breakfast. By the time he comes back bearing food and caffeine, Peter’s rolled onto his back and is snoring softly.

Stiles sits down at the small table on the other side of the room, and then shouts loudly “Peter! Get up!”

Peter starts, and his eyes fly open.

“Get up, I’ve got breakfast and we need to get going” Stiles tells him, and when Peter shows no sign of moving he strips the blanket off the bed.

Peter whimpers - a pitiful sound that’s a far cry from his earlier growl.

“Why? Why am I awake?” he whines.

Stiles checks his watch.

“Because it’s already after nine. If you get up now, you can sleep in the car while I drive”

Peter hauls himself upright, drinks the coffee that Stiles presses into his hand, eats his breakfast sandwich, and gets dressed, all without a word.

He shambles out to the car and is asleep in the passenger seat before Stiles has finished checking them out of the motel.

Stiles gets into the driver’s seat and looks around for the keys.

They’re nowhere to be seen.

He looks at Peter, sleeping with his seat reclined, and sees a bulge in his jeans pocket.

Of fucking course.

He put the keys in his pocket.

Stiles thinks about his options. He can wake the sleeping wolf, or he can try and get the keys out.

Just then Peter shifts a little in his sleep, making his pockets a little more accessible.

Stiles thinks to himself _fuck it_ and leans in, gently easing the keys from Peter’s pocket.

They catch on the fabric a little, and a hand clamps down on his wrist suddenly.

He looks up to see Peter’s eyes flashing as he instinctively holds onto Stiles, only half awake.

“Relax, dude. I need the keys to drive” Stiles says, trying to escape Peter’s iron grip.

It takes a moment, but Peter’s eyes clear and he lets go, shaking his head a little.

He apologizes, saying “Sorry. Instinct. I’m not used to waking up to people with their hands on my crotch.”

He adds “Not without buying them dinner first, anyway.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and starts the car.

“You’re a terrible flirt, Peter. What makes you think I’m even gay?” he asks.

“Excuse me, I’m an excellent flirt. And are you?”

Stiles makes a seesawing motion with his hand. “A little? I mean, I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy, but I’ve never actually _had_ the opportunity with a guy, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s not an invitation” he hastens to add, when he sees the hungry look in Peter’s eye.

“No? Are you sure? Well in that case, I might as well sleep. Don’t wake me till after eleven” Peter orders, and closes his eyes again.

He’s out like a light not two minutes later.

Stiles drives in silence, radio turned off, enjoying the quiet. The roads aren’t too busy, the terrible weather keeping people home, so he has a good run, and by the time we wakes Peter at twelve they’ve made good time.

Peter climbs out of the car and stretches, his shirt riding up and exposing a strip of belly. Stiles eyes it hungrily before reminding himself that he’s not going there.

Peter sees him watching, and winks.

Now that he’s slept, he’s much chirpier, and he spends the whole time they’re eating lunch making increasingly suggestive comments. He laughs loudly when he manages to make Stiles blush with a comment about showing him what’s in his Christmas package.

Stiles laughs as well, but still tells him “Thanks for the offer, but you can keep your package to yourself, dude. I refuse to be your road trip fuck buddy. It’s just too cliché.”

Peter shrugs.

“Another time, perhaps.”

Stiles doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t say no, either.

 

* * *

 

 

They share the driving for the rest of the day, switching out whenever one of them needs a break, and the conversation flows easily. 

Stiles learns that Peter lives literally ten minutes away from him.

He also learns that he has a job as a supernatural consultant for one of the TV networks, for a given value of the word ‘job’ – he slows up, reads the scripts, tells them what’s wrong, and harasses the actors for selfies. He says it beats working for a living.

‘Why work at all?” he asks, curious. “You’ve never needed to before.”

“Haven’t you heard Stiles? Idle hands are the devil’s playground, apparently” Peter tells him.

Stiles snorts at that.

“Actually, my therapist recommended it, along with moving away from Beacon Hills"Peter reveals.

"Plus, have you _seen_ some of the men on those shows? It’s not like it’s a hardship spending time checking out their…acting.”

Stiles snickers.

He knows the show Peter’s talking about, and the actors. And he has to admit, he’s not wrong. They are very pretty.

“So which one do you prefer? The big tall one or the pretty one?” he teases.

“Actually, neither. I go more for the Bambi type – all wide eyed and breathless, possibly a little scared. My wolf likes it.” Peter tells him, and there’s that predatory look again.

“You’re a menace, Peter Hale” Stiles tells him, and Peter happily agrees.

“Oh, absolutely. You should see me in the bedroom. I’ll show you, if you like” Peter offers, ever hopeful. “I mean, we’re stopping for the night anyway, it could be my present to you.”

“Absolutely not” Stiles tells him firmly.

“Well, if you change your mind, just say the word. I'll even tie a ribbon around it, to make it festive” smirks Peter.

And great, now all Stiles can think of is what it would be like if he said yes. He just knows that Peter would take complete control of the situation, and that he’d be at his mercy.

He doesn’t hate the idea.

As if he knows what he’s thinking, Peter leans over and says lowly “I’d make it good, I can guarantee that.”

Stiles bats him away and sets his gaze firmly on the road ahead.

“Even if I were ever to say yes, it wouldn’t be on Christmas Eve in a shitty motel. I’d expect you to wine and dine me first” he declares.

Peter quirks a brow, and gives him that filthy smile, the one where his lip curls in a way that promises no good.

“I’ll bear that in mind” he says with a wink.

They find a motel, and Stiles doesn’t even bother to roll his eyes when they’re told they have to share a room.

At least there are single beds this time.

 

* * *

 

Peter really is a tease, Stiles thinks as he watches the man move around the room clad once again in only a towel.

“Would you put a damn shirt on?” he huffs out.

“Now why would I do that and deprive you, when I know you enjoy the view so?” Peter says with a lascivious grin.

Stiles goes to have his own shower, and as he’s getting out, he thinks to himself _two can play at that game_.

He tousles his hair carefully so it’s soft and sexy looking, and bites his lips a little to make them red and plush.

He tucks the towel around his waist after making sure he still has a few trickles of water running down his chest, and grins at himself in the mirror.

He looks fucking delicious. Let’s see how Peter likes a dose of his own medicine.

He steps out of the bathroom and is rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.

Peter’s looking at him, eyes wide.

“Oh, Stiles. Are you trying to play me at my own game?” he asks, slightly breathless.

“Maybe. Is it working?” Stiles asks him with a wink.

“I’m not sure. Just stand there and let me decide. And if you could turn around, that would be helpful.”

Stiles obligingly twirls, and he hears Peter hum appreciatively.

“You know, it’s impolite to promise what you’re not willing to deliver” Peter tells him, and Stiles can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on his ass.

Peter’s reaction’s very gratifying, and he’s feeling pretty good about himself, so sue him.

“Well, never say never. Like I say, wine and dine me and you might get lucky” Stiles says, and maybe he’s only half joking.

The more time he spends with Peter, the more the man appeals to him. It’s very disconcerting.

“Trust me when I tell you this, Stiles. If I take you to bed, I’m not the only one who will feel lucky” Peter purrs, and dammit, somehow he’s turned the tables again and Stiles is left feeling like prey.

He grabs his boxers and a t shirt and goes into the bathroom to change.

When he emerges, Peter’s already tucked up in his bed, but he’s wide awake this time and he watches Stiles shamelessly.

“You really do have wonderful legs, Stiles. They’d look so good thrown over my shoulders” he observes, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Play your cards right, and you might find out someday" Stiles shoots back, feeling bold, and he gets a warm feeling in his chest as he listens to Peter laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t even try and shake Peter awake the next morning until he’s been and fetched them coffee, and even then, he just stands at the end of the bed and throws  a shoe at him.

Peter sits bolt upright, fangs dropped, eyes flashing, and roars.

“Very impressive. Now get your ass out of bed. It’s Christmas, and I wanna get home and see my dad.”

Peter blinks, and his fangs recede. He looks at the clock and groans.

“Stiles, it’s 5am. Why?”

“So we can get home by ten” Stiles says, handing over the coffee.

Peter snatches it from him greedily and gulps it down, and then attempts to lie down again.

Stiles turns the lights on and confiscates the blankets.

“I really hate you right now’ Peter grumbles.

“Good, you can stop hitting on me for five minutes and get in the damn car” Stiles retorts.

Peter grizzles his way through washing and dressing and breakfast, and slumps into the passenger seat.

Now that home’s within reach, Stiles is feeling buoyant, and he’s more entertained by Peter’s crankiness than anything.

He finds a radio station that’s playing obnoxiously cheerful Christmas music, and turns it up loud, just to be an asshole.

Peter leans forwards and snaps the radio off firmly, muttering  ”No.”

Stiles sighs loudly, acting put upon.

“Fiiine, you just Grinch out over there. We’ll be home in four hours, I’ll wake you then” he says.

Peter doesn’t respond, already asleep.

The drive flies by, and soon Stiles is pulling up in front of his childhood home.

His dad comes out the door with his arms held wide, saying “You made it!”

He peers into the passenger window and sees Peter still sleeping.

“Something you want to tell me, son? New boyfriend?” he asks.

Stiles laughs.

“Oh god, no. Peter just gave me a ride. He saw me at the airport just after I called you.”

Noah nods.

 “Peter’s a good guy, at heart” he comments. 

“He’s a shameless flirt who spent the whole trip trying to get me into bed” Stiles counters.

Noah raises a hand and says “I do not need to know, Stiles.”

Peter opens the passenger door just then and climbs out, still muzzy from sleep.

“Sheriff” he says, holding a hand out to Noah.

“Peter” Noah replies, shaking the hand. “Thanks for bringing my boy home.”

“It was my pleasure, trust me” Peter says.  “Stiles has been delightful company. And I was glad to have someone to share the drive.”

Stiles unloads his bags from the back, and after he thanks him again for the ride, he watches Peter drive away, just like that.

He spends the holidays with his Dad, and it’s nice. He doesn’t hear from Peter again, but it’s fine. Obviously the flirting was all just a way to pass the time on the long trip. It’s not like he expected it to actually lead anywhere, he tells himself.

After all, this isn’t some cheesy Christmas romance.

 

* * *

 

 

Except that two days after Christmas, he opens the front door to find Peter standing there, car keys dangling from his hands.

“Share the drive back home?” he asks, expression hopeful.

Stiles grins widely, and nods.

 

* * *

 

Peter takes him out to dinner that night, saying “someone told me wining and dining you might increase my chances of getting lucky.”

'It might, at that'' Stiles agrees.

“More wine?” Peter offers with a wicked smile.

Stiles holds out his glass.

The return trip’s going to be fun, he thinks.

 


End file.
